


What's Under London's Lock And Key

by TheOtherMaddHatter



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Gen, Jack Being Oblivious, Multiple Crossovers, Mycroft And The Doctor Squabble Like Children, Mycroft being awesome, Mycroft's Meddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:37:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtherMaddHatter/pseuds/TheOtherMaddHatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Big Brother is watching. Big Brother is always watching, even when Big Brother is the one making the move. Not that anyone but Big Brother realized that moves are being made, but that's really beside the point isn't it?  </p>
<p>Series of One-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Well Kept Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything from either the Sherlock Universe, Torchwood Universe, or The Doctor Who Universe. This was just a crack idea I had one late night and decided to write. Of course Mycroft would know about Torchwood. In fact, he'd probably have met the Doctor on more than one occasion. You know it is true. He's practically the British Government, after all.

When the Commander of UNIT told Captain Jack Harkness that it was out of his hands, that the whole operation had been shut down and taken out from under their very noses, he'd practically laughed in his face. When he'd gone beyond the Commander and straight to the General, and the man told him the exact same thing, he'd frowned. Then a few seconds later he asked what sort of power outside of UNIT and Torchwood had the audacity and influence to do such a thing. Influence enough to directly effect orders once assigned to them from the Queen of England herself.

Because that was quite the influential pull.

"A Higher Power." The General had said, eyes tight and drawn. "Best leave it alone, Harkness. It is not something you want to go sticking your nose into, I assure you."

But of course he did! And of course, he hadn't listened.

Soon he was back on the trail, continuing to push and prod and press whoever he could get to answer his many questions and phone calls. His list of contacts long since tapped and put to the test in search of who-or-whatever had taken away such a high priority alien technology case from the residential alien experts. It was like taking toys out of some other kids's sandbox and waving them in said kids' face!

Infuriating, it was, this long and progressively relentless search. All over the UK his calls were slowly being denied, hung up upon, and some -from the heart of London herself- were going so far as to disconnect their numbers. He'd been stonewalled from all sides, it seemed, and just as he was nearing the end of his proverbial rope and calling it quits, an answer presented itself.

In the form of a man wearing a rather expensive, well-cut suit, and toting an umbrella.

The Ice Man.

Not that Jack had known at the time, because when he first saw the man, standing at the the stone square just shy of the Invisa-Lift, he'd mistaken him for some random businessman out for a stroll on his lunch break. It wasn't too uncommon to see them in the Plass or in Mermaid Quay proper during this time of the day, although an umbrella on such a sunny day was a bit strange, but not overly so. So he'd just assumed that the mystery man -coincidence he was so close to the lift- was some businessman watching the Tower Fountain that fed the Hub bellow on his lunch break.

He couldn't have been more wrong if he'd actually tried. This man was no ordinary man, because the disregarded umbrella -the way it was so tenderly held- would have told him as such, had he payed it the attention it deserved. However, the man's icy tones did a better job at conveying his irritation that the umbrella ever could.

"Captain Harkness, I presume?" The posh tone was clipped, a sophisticated accent making the question seem icy cold that slashed the air about them. "Pleasure to make you acquaintance, I'm sure. But I'm afraid I must cut the pleasantries short. We have business to discuss."

"And you are?" Harkness prompted. "I don't believe I know you."

Jack was confused. He didn't know this man, but clearly this man knew him. And anyone who knew him probably knew about Torchwood, which was sort of scary, since he had no idea who he was. But by the sound of it, whatever their business consisted of, it was mighty serious. The tone of voice told him it wasn't good.

But the man was just smirking.

"Shall we, Captain?" The umbrella tapped on the stone that held the lift, proving to Jack that this man could clearly see through the perception filters placed on it. That would mean he knew about the Rift too, probably. "I'm sure we all have better things to be doing, but I'm afraid this is rather necessary. You made it that way, you see, and so I felt it my duty to answer your questions."

"My questions? Who are you, and what are you talking about?" Jack was demanding now, and though he was hesitant to pull his Webly in the middle of the crowded Plass, he considered making an exception. "And why are you here? The General said-"

"Yes, I'm quite aware of what General Marcus said, Captain. In fact, I spoke to him on the phone just last week. That's how we came about meeting, actually." The man's eyes were barren, wind-swept tundra, frost lacing every statement he uttered, despite his relaxed posture. "You've been poking about where you're unwanted."

"You mean to tell me that you're part of whatever it was that hushed up the encounter we were dealing with in Bristol?" Now Jack was angry, this man had deliberately taken away their investigation! "That was highly sensitive material and you had the nerve to just blunder in and remove us, Torchwood - _The Experts!_ \- from doing our job?"

"Quite, Captain. However, with that specific piece of technology, I feel like I must offer some form of pacification because of the danger it possessed. I'm sure someone of your caliber would recognize a Hyu'Nyylla Disintegrator Gun when he saw it?" The man smirked slightly as he stepped closer to Jack. "Had you been on scene first, before UNIT or a group who we suspect are still part of Torchwood One, we would have allowed you to your jurisdiction. But you weren't, Captain Harkness, and we could not afford something so dangerous so close to home. I'm sure you agree."

"Wait, Torchwood One? What do those bastards have to do with anything?" He snarled right back, completely missing the point the mystery man was trying to make. "How could you knowingly allow them anywhere near us when-!"

"Captain Harkness!" The man didn't shout, but he did hiss out his demand before stamping his umbrella harshly onto the cement block beneath their feet. "You are missing the point entirely! The entire reason I had it taken was to _prevent_ Torchwood One's remains from getting its hands on it. Not to keep you from doing your job, I assure you."

"Wait, how do you know about the Torchwood One particulars? We didn't even tell UNIT the entire story about what happened at Canary Wharf." Jack sounded genuinely surprised to hear the other man speak of something as secret and taboo as the destruction in London. "We kept the whole thing in house."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of what protocols Yvonne Heartman had in place while she ruled One with an iron fist." The man's sneer bled out through the cracks in his icy smirk. "She would have found the Cybermen more a mercy than us."

"How could you possibly say that? You heartless bastard!" Harkness snarled, seizing the front of the man's lapels and shaking him hard. "She was horribly murdered, her brain ripped from her body during the mass conversions! The Cybermen have no mercy!"

"She was also a major threat to National, if not the World's, Security. I assure you, Captain Harkness, my main priority is the well being of all of Great Britain and its citizens. I serve Queen and Country first," The glare snapped back into place as he forced the larger man's hands off his expensive suit. "Not the scientific curiosity that would lean towards morbidity before the safety of others."

"The Ghost Shifts..." Jack said suddenly, as if understanding finally what the man was talking about. "Someone had convinced the entire world that it was an atmospheric phenomenon that happened and not actual ghosts. And it wasn't UNIT that did it. They wouldn't have had the power to keep the other governments at bay."

"Yes, they were seen all over London, as well as the world. And regardless of our numerous attempts to stop her unorthodox experiments, I'm afraid she decided to ignore our more friendly attempts. You, of course, saw the results of those decisions." The man stepped back, dusting off his suit coat. "How many dead, Captain? How many died needlessly because a sadistically ambitious woman ignored the warnings of a concerned party?"

The answer was 'too many people.'

So many lives lost in a senseless, reckless battle that had no reason for even have happened in the first place. Although he hadn't been there personally, along with Owen, Suzy, and Tosh, he'd helped clean up on scene once they'd been notified. It had been a brutal and very long two weeks, drawn out and dotted with so many bodies and conversion units that it all started to bleed together. He hadn't known it at the time, but Ianto and his fiance Lisa had been there as well, suffering through their own hardships and bloody end.

In the end, they'd allowed UNIT to help with the clean-up on the condition that they remained somewhat ignorant on all the details on just what had happened at Canary Wharf. They hadn't allowed them to get any of the technology in the building, instead confiscating it all and splitting it between Torchwood Three and Two, and they'd only been allowed to help remove bodies from the scene. He'd never told anyone any of the details, not even Suzy, but this man knew. This man knew all about it.

Something he couldn't possibly know about.

"I have no idea who you are, or how you found out about The Hub or Torchwood One, but you're not welcome here." Jack strode over to stand on top of the lift, his coat flaring out in a dramatic fashion he'd had down for years. "I don't want to see you anywhere near this base again, do you hear me? I'll use force if need be."

"Hm, I see Captain Harkness. Well, in that case, I'll take my leave." He said, removing a Blackberry from his coat pocket and typing out something upon it before hitting send. Soon a long black limousine showed up at the edge of the Plass, and the man casually glanced back at Jack before walking towards it. "We'll be in touch, Captain Harkness."

"No, we won't Mister?" Jack asked, typing something out on his wrist cuff in frustration, setting the sequence for decent to begin as soon as he hit send. "I don't believe you ever gave your name."

"Ah, I nearly forgot." The umbrella tapped a rhythm onto the concrete as he spoke, the smirk coming back once more. " I'm Holmes, Mycroft Holmes."

"And what is it that you do exactly, Mr. Holmes?"

"Oh, I occupy a minor position in the British Government, Captain Harkness, and nothing more." Mr. Holmes said genially as he waved off the question as if it weren't of any importance. "I'll be on my way now, Captain, do have a nice day. Oh, and don't mind the banana."

Huh?

What banana?

**\--**

Later, much later, when Jack had finished cleaning up the mess made by a few rogue Weevils and his over zealous crew, he trudged back to his office, his chair inviting him to sit and rest. He would of course, after the day he'd had. The meeting with the mystery man Mycroft Holmes had only been the beginning of it, and he still had a migraine from the exploding Weevil Spray canister. Which only got worse once he'd actually sat down.

Because there, sitting innocently on his desk, was a beautiful banana.

One that hadn't been there when he'd left this morning.

"Ianto, Ianto!"


	2. Dramaturgy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Series of one-shots based around all of these lovely ideas I've seen in the fandom or that I've come up with while watching those beloved shows. Plus I just really love Mycroft.

"The pears are rubbish, I'm afraid." A posh voice said, the tone sharp in the hustle of the crowd around them both. The late afternoon rush had just gotten going in earnest, and business folks from all over were doing their after work shopping. "Nasty things sprayed with even nastier pesticides. Not worth their weight, really."

"Odd, you're not the only one to say that to me today." Jack said faintly, turning to look at the speaker who'd identity he already knew, the pears he'd been looking at forgotten momentarily. "What is it with you people and pears? They haven't done anything."

 _'You people?'_ Mycroft Holmes mouthed, a slight scrunch to his face indicating his mild disgust as such an obvious question. How had he managed to get lumped in with such a lowly category was beyond him, a fact that was clearly evident on his face. It wasn't that he had anything against pears, natural pears, but since they weren't exactly native to Earth, he felt that all the artificial things humans had to put on them to grow them in the first place were the real problem. Artificial chemicals for artificial fruit on an obscure planet not meant to house them in the first place.

But that was besides the point.

Captain Harkness was sort of surprised really, though he knew his ears didn't play tricks on him now like they once had, to see Mycroft Holmes in the local Tescos, of all places. It was a few blocks away from the main Hub in Cardiff, and was not exactly a prime location on the best days, especially not for someone as high up as Mr. Holmes clearly was. So he'd never expected to hear his voice in such a common place, especially after the normal hours of work. Although Holmes probably never kept what most people would describe as 'Normal Hours of Operation' as a basic work schedule. Not if his ever present, tailored suit was anything to judge on.

It really stood out here.

"Mr. Holmes, I didn't expect to see you again so soon." Jack said with a quick smirk, placing the fruit back into the basket carefully. "And here in Wales, of all places."

"No rest for the wicked, as the saying goes." Mycroft shared his smirk briefly before his features returned to the schooled mask they always seemed to rely on before he tucked away the ever-present umbrella and offered his hand. "Though I must express surprise of my own at running into you here, as well."

"So you didn't come for me this time, then? That's sort of a relief." Jack laughed as he took the other man's hand briefly, the tight grip mirrored in the business man's own hand shake. "I must say that talking to you is a bit unnerving at the best of times, and really intimidating the rest of the time."

"Oh, how so?" Holmes seemed curious, but not surprised.

"I had my team look you up." Jack turned serious now, because this topic was a serious one. He could be serious when he really wanted to be. "It seems that you don't really exist anywhere past a faked paper trail. You exist nowhere except on fake paper."

"My, my, I'm impressed. Normally people find that one paper trail an go home happy." Mycroft didn't show much emotion, but a faint twinkle in his eyes showed Harkness that he was both interested and in good humor. "To find nothing at all means that you went beyond what I had placed there. That takes quite the achievement, I'm assured."

What had been placed there was the paper trail of a sixty-five year old, retired, mine worker from somewhere near Lindsey, who's wife was dead and had no children to speak of. He lived a quiet but reserved life near his village of birth on a decent plot of land that he farmed regularly. He spent a small amount of money on weekly groceries, and was said to have to walk with a cane because of a leg injury he'd sustained during his mining career. It was a load of bullocks, but well fabricated, and whoever had put this together, had earned Jack Harkness's salute. It was one hell of a cover story.

"My team are impressive, aren't they?" Jack's casual smirk was back now, full force. It was Mycroft's turn now to move. "I hand picked all of them."

"Especially since you have access to such stock, state-of-the-art technology, and equipment, Captain Harkness. Most impressive." Holmes nodded in agreement, his head moving elegantly as he dodged the Captain's barbed comment. "Your Archivalist in particular draws questions of his own right. As does your Tech Analyst."

"Oh, how so?" Jack threw back, his words meant to mock ones that Holmes had used previously. He was back on edge now though, knowing in his heart of hearts that what he was talking bout was a dangerous subject. "I thought Ianto was rather lovely, myself, especially in all those suits of his. Clearly you're a suit man yourself, Mr. Holmes. And I can't pass up a pretty face."

"A point I won't contest, Captain, I assure you. I was merely touching on his former employment. All of their former employments, actually." Holmes took a half-step backwards as he half-twirled his umbrella in some sort of distracted manner. "However, it appears as though you trust him implicitly, so who am I to judge? Your team's well-far is none of my concern."

"Yeah..." Jack was now at a lost, the conversation had just taken a drastically personal turn. Was this man hinting as his growing relationship with Ianto Jones? "It's mine."

"Hm, yes." The umbrella twirled again as Holmes eyed the crowd about them with distaste. "I was merely making small talk."

"What do you want, Holmes?" The Captain finally snapped, patience at a limited end. This man tended to do that to him, wear out what limited reserves he had. It must have been a natural talent. "And please make it quick."

"I was only making small talk, really." He re-affirmed, smirk playing once more, never reaching his eyes. "I'm attempting to pass the time while I wait for someone to show up. However unpredictable he might be, he is rarely ever late."

"A friend of yours then?" Odd to think of this man having a life outside of whatever government business it was that he did, waiting for friends before going to the local pub for a pint and a game of cards. "Or a business acquaintance?"

Mycroft laughed, truly laughed, and the sound made the hair raise on the back of Jack's arms and neck.

"Hardly either description, which is something I regret at points." A look of something flashed in the Icy eyes before it retreated to hide once more, gone before Jack had a chance to analyze it fully. "He would see us as something of a Balance, Opposite Powers in life, if you will. I won't deny that he does give me a run for my money."

Mycroft Holmes -the _real_ Mycroft Holmes- not the shell that was standing before him, one shown out in public, was an absolute mystery. And Jack Harkness was extremely proficient at reading people. The man was intriguing in his own sense, darkly handsome in his well-to-do business suit, which was expertly tailored to his form, and carried about a mysterious umbrella in all weather. But it was the underlying scent of forbidden power wafting from him in waves that really caused Jack to pick up and notice. It was exotic, dangerously so, on those stand-alone principles by themselves. Throw in all his influence, his mannerisms, his posh upbringing, and his whip-sharp intellect, and he became even more alluring.

Mycroft Holmes wasn't someone he'd normally have gone for either, someone of Holmes's stature was a tangled web he'd never really enjoyed weaving and dodging through. Captain Harkness preferred the casual feel of a lesser fling with someone who would easily forget his face, as he would forget theirs. But even Jack sometimes felt like getting his hands dirty, just as he felt the pull of this man, something akin to a gravitational force of a hidden planet, or maybe a black hole. It felt just as deadly as that anyways.

This dance was very dangerous.

Not to mention his tenuous relationship that was just beginning wit the immensely clever Ianto Jones, something that had been slow to blossom, but more so much more the wait. So rewarding, what the two of them had, and for the first time in a long time, Jack had truly began to feel happy again. He wasn't about to risk what he had with the delectable Coffee Boy for some one off with a man he probably didn't even have the real name of. Not when a man would go to three different stores for specific coffee beans for him. Coffee beans that he'd gone to retrieve quite a while ago.

All of a sudden, this entire encounter was beginning to concern him.

Ianto never took this long.

He was practical, in every sense of the word, and that meant he never did anything without first having thought about it for a while and weighing it against pros and cons. No move was made without close inspection, and Ianto never dawdled. In fact, Jack would hazard a guess that Ianto didn't even know the meaning of the word, except out of context or in the work-placed of his fellow peers. Had something happened?

Should he be worried?

He didn't have time to really give it any thought.

"Ah, Sherlock, how nice to see you here." Mycroft purred ominously, eyes fixed on a point behind Jack's shoulder, the deep blue lighting up with icy interest. "And Dr. Watson, I take it that finding me wasn't too much of a hassle for you? I knew you were already in the area, after all. Just one more stop on your journey."

"Mycroft." A very male someone spat out as he rounded into Harkness's vision. Tall, dark, and handsome weren't enough to convey what the man standing to his left was, not really, all cheek bones, flashing eyes, and pale skin. "I take it that it was you who led us on such a merry chase."

It wasn't a question.

The man clearly knew Mycroft far longer than Jack had, that was for sure. His stance was strong, confident, and radiating anger on such a level it almost made him want to take a step back. The thin man was intense on the same level that Mycroft Holmes was, so it was no wonder they interacted like they were now, two immovable objects colliding in space against one another. Two raging forces meeting at a breaking point, though Mycroft wasn't flanked by anyone like this mysterious Sherlock person was. Even if the companion wasn't much force or presence wise.

"Hullo, Mycroft." The other man said, this one shorter than his companion, and opposite him in so many ways it was like looking at comparing the moon to the sun. He also seemed more pleasant, countering the sharp anger of his companion. "Odd, finding you in Cardiff. What brings you all the way out here to Wales?"

"Not odd, John, do catch up." The taller man snapped, clearly irritated at Mycroft Holmes and taking it out on his companion, though the shorter man hardly reacted to the insult. "He led us here, of course, did you not Mycroft? I get to close to another one of your little secrets with this one? Or perhaps I hit a nerve?"

"Of course not, Sherlock. I was merely here to meet you. As I've said before, it is hardly my entire purpose to keep tabs on you and you alone, every step of the way. Regardless of how entertaining you and Dr. Watson's shenanigans are, I have more important affairs to delegate." Holmes's smirk flared a bit, catching Jack in an odd fashion, like bating a starving dog with red meat. "Lestrade phoned me."

"It is disturbing to know that you keep in contact with him so well, Mycroft. And frankly it isn't something that I ever needed to know. You having him on speed dial is the pinnacle of horrors." Sherlock, as Mycroft had called him, snarled before twirling a bit in place, eyes only glancing off Jack briefly. "Talking with the lower peons again, I see? I wasn't even aware that you got your hands dirty with the likes of Torchwood. I thought you were above that nonsense."

"Naturally, Sherlock. You do seem to think I am The Government, after all." Now Mycroft was really smirking, his umbrella planted firmly in the ground as he took a step towards them. The comment caught Harkness off guard, and immediately he was wary. How had this mystery man, who clearly knew Mycroft Holmes, known about Torchwood? And what did he mean when he said Mycroft Holmes was _The Government_? As in capitals? "And what sort of employee would I be if I didn't know about Britain's most poorly kept secret? Well, after UNIT anyways."

"The same type you always are, I'd imagine." Came Sherlock's scathing retort before his brain shifted gears suddenly. "You hardly show all of your hand so quickly, Mycroft. May I ask what your game is so early, this evening? I do tire of your power plays."

"Boys, boys, enough now." Dr. Watson re-affirmed, coming to stand between the two glowering men, trying to sooth the intense debate they were clearly having. "Let's try to be civil about this, if you please. Sherlock, I'm sure you'd love to pester Mycroft forever, and Mycroft I'm sure you'd love to torment Sherlock, but can we call a truce? If only for a few minutes. I'd rather like some answers."

"That's what I was thinking." Jack chimed in, his face slowly storming over, clouds hanging low on his head. "What the Hell is going on around here?"

"Hm, you certainly sound American. Don't you?" Sherlock said abruptly, turning those stormy eyes onto Jack fully, as if he'd just now noticed his presence. The power behind those eyes startled him slightly, something in them familiar, but unplaceable. "But you're not, are you? No, of course not. Which would explain why Mycroft was so engrossed in talking with you. He's hardly interested with something as common as an American.

So, intergalactic traveler then, or at the very least, alien in origins, one who's heard the dreadful American accent upon first arrival and mimicked it. You have in your possession older American military issued clothing, but the style is a later dated fashion than the coat, so not consistent in your stay in this time era, so you've been here before, but not at this time frame. Though judging by your familiarity with your surroundings and the stains on your Great Coat, you've been here for quite some time during this stay. In Cardiff, I mean, not Cardiff specifically. Because I think you've been other places on Earth besides just Cardiff. But perhaps you are just a Time Agent? I know those are some-what documented in the records well, or at least they are according to Torchwood One. Am I at least getting close?"

Captain Harkness blinked twice.

Beside him, Dr. Watson just sighed heavily.

"Do give it a rest, won't you Sherlock? As fascinating as I'm sure Captain Harkness is, he's hardly the reason for you to be here. You did no travel all the way from London for such a deduction." Mycroft got a glare for his attempts at defusing the two, but seemed nonplussed. Like he'd dealt with Sherlock before. "I was able to confirm UNIT and Torchwood were not part of your case. Neither was any part of the British military, regardless of the branch, as I'm sure John can help you confirm."

"Then why was it I found traces of alien technology on the murder victim, Mycroft?" Sherlock growled tightly, eyes flaring with impatience. "There shouldn't have been anything in London like that, not with you patrolling as heavily as you do. It had to come from somewhere! The only weak link in this equation is Torchwood and The Rift!"

"Please, I just said that Torchwood and UNIT wasn't involved in the technologic appearance themselves. I never said that it wasn't alien in origin." Jack eyed Mycroft carefully, suddenly getting the feeling that this meeting wasn't as random as he said it was. "Which is why I brought you here. If you would allow me to get a word in edge wise, you'd know that you're talking to Captain Jack Harkness."

"Torchwood Three?" Suddenly Sherlock sounded wary, eyeing Jack with all the caution devoted to rabid animals and serial murderers. "I knew he was Torchwood, but really? You felt it necessary to get him involved in all this? I want to solve my case, not have it taken away from me! Mycroft you fool!"

Jack was currently feeling the same way. Holmes had said that their meeting was purely coincidental, and yet here he was implying that he had meant to rig the half-assed meeting between them all. He'd known Mycroft was dangerous, and that this new player Sherlock was potentially dangerous as well, but he was just coming to realize just how dangerous they both really were. The companion, Dr. Watson, seemed alright, but if he was kept in such regard by both men, Jack wasn't about to write him off as harmless just yet. Not that the jumper was over threatening in and of itself, but who knew what was _underneath_ the jumper he wore? Most definitely regard the quiet, seemingly harmless ones with the most scrutiny.

"Oh do please stop thinking so loudly, Captain. Yes, John is armed, and yes, Mycroft and I are both familiar with one another, but no, we are not here to threaten or use you. I have no desire for such outside help." Sherlock whirled around to stare at him, his coat flaring out like some large bat spreading its wings wide. "Though your thoughts that Mycroft and I are dangerous are spot on. Well done."

John laughed slightly, trying still to defuse the situation.

"He hasn't told you yet, has he?" Sherlock said suddenly, eyes lighting up again, though this time it was excitement, having a secret that no one else had. "Mycroft, you old dog you, holding out on poor Captain Harkness. You didn't tell him, and he hasn't worked it out yet!"

"Sherlock, I didn't work it out on my own." Dr. Watson said, somewhat exasperatedly. "I had to find out from your argument with Mycroft after the whole Study In Pink lot. He had implied you were arch enemies, but that was before we'd come against Moriarty, and I believed him. Sometimes I still believe him."

At this Sherlock snickered, head thrown back dramatically as he laughed at the situation, as well as John and whatever else he'd said. John just continued to glare at Sherlock, eyes rolling as he arched one brow in Mycroft's direction. Mycroft just shrugged and sighed as well, though not as loudly as Dr. Watson had earlier. Jack just stood there, as confused as ever.

"What are you talking about?" He finally bit out, eyebrows knitting in contempt at the entire situation. "What haven't I worked out on my own?"

Sherlock instantly reeled himself in, face going almost immediately passive.

"Come John, the game is on!" He waved his hand in Mycroft and Jack's direction as he whirled on the ball of his foot, spinning in place before marching towards the doors. "No time to dawdle!"

"Nice to meet you, Captain." John Watson said before saluting tightly, flashing a pleasant smile as he tottered off after the eccentric man who was damn near to the doors by now. "And don't worry! He's not as big of an arse as he appears to be!"

Jack was left blinking as them as he tried to process what had just happened, and just what was going on now. The tall man with dark hair and piercing eyes, Sherlock as the other two had called him, and his companion Dr. Watson were only the tip of the iceberg, and Mycroft Holmes was not being anymore forth coming as he continued to stand there passively, watching the other two leave. The man had heaved a slight sigh before turning his eyes back to watch Harkness carefully, eyes cold but focused.

"Don't mind my brother and his companion, Captain Harkness. He and Doctor Watson mean no harm..." He smirked again. "Intentionally, anyways. It always upset Mummy when he meant to do it."

Jack Harkness's heart skipped a beat.

"Do have a nice night, or whatever remains of it, Captain." Holmes continued on, as if Jack hadn't been standing there gaping at him like a fish out of water, his umbrella twirling ever so slightly as he took a few steps. "And do tell that nice PA of yours thank you for the lovely coffee suggestions. They do so help after a long day at the office."

Jack could only continue to gape after the man as he too disappeared into the late-evening crowd of the local Tescos, the signature umbrella tucked dutifully into his left hand. And it wasn't until Ianto showed back up, hands full with the several different coffee brands that Jack knew were each of the team's favorite, that he even attempted to move from his stock-still position in the middle of the deserted isle.

But despite all protests and attempts at explanation, he couldn't get the feeling that this wasn't the last time he was going to be seeing either of the Holmes Brothers.

And what a pain that was.


	3. Dalek Nation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, I just busted out the big guns here, didn't I? Whoops, but at least it is the 11th Doctor. I still can't get 10's personality right. But soon, because Mycroft would have met him too. And they still would have butted heads.

The British Government had known about Daleks for a very long time.

In fact, they'd had them physically stashed away in a large, underground warehouse well since the middle of World War II, their deactivated shells chained down with lengths of chain given to them by a certain alien who constantly ran amuck in their proceedings. (But they'd encountered them well before that, if stories were to be believed, and there were even a few poor photographs of them several hundred years before that.) It didn't stop them from putting the resources to good use though, because not even they were foolish enough to leave the monsters unsupervised without some form of leash on them. Even if they were supposedly inactive and presumed dead, a prognosis given by The Doctor himself.

The Doctor...in such bad taste and form, had left two of them then.

There were more than that here now.

The time-capsule room that was the Dalek burial site also held the propaganda posters that showed the Daleks in all their glory proclaiming slogans such as "-To Victory!" or "Defeat The Enemy!" and many bits and pieces of war-time gear designed specifically for them by those of the nation's military. These early slogans and posters came well before the more traditional "Rosie the Riveter" posters or even the well worn statements of "Keep Calm and Carry On" and were as such, in short supply. Those few crate-full's of propaganda and motivational posters were almost as guarded and chained down as heavily as the Daleks themselves were. If only reserved a bit by the fact that they were, in fact, only pieces of paper and not sentient like the aliens just down the way had been.

Many of the remaining Dalek parcels and clothing bundles from WW II were equipped with serving trays and other various butler-like gear because so many factions had used them as replacements for servants who couldn't be trusted in the war. Daleks had served tea and biscuits to so many before The Doctor had shown up and thrown a very alien hissy fit, even had served the great Winston Churchill personally. Mycroft, of course, hadn't been there to see it in person, but he was told by reports and those few witnesses still alive that it had been a sight to behold, both The Doctor's fit and Churchill's surprised retorts. He didn't doubt that the Earth's number one line of defense and guard was a bit more like his younger brother than even he cared to admit. Though the thought of it alone sometimes filled his blacker days with sparks of what could be called humor.

Mycroft had to estimate that there were well over forty of them down here now.

Forty shells that had once held the most feared race in the universe.

A race that even scared The Doctor.

The Dalek Nation.

It was odd to think of it in such cloying, past tense terms like he'd been forced to do so for some time now, ever since The Doctor had showed up again and made a show of finding the secure facilities that housed most of the war-weapons and confiscated alien artifacts. Well, the ones that weren't in their laboratories, anyways... The willowy man -a face changed yet again from the last time their surveillance team caught a good look at him- had barged into a tightly regulated secure room claiming something about mixed signals and a potential call for help, dragging along his two Companions as he went. Mycroft, of course, had attempted to convey that there was no such thin occurring down there, and that his help wasn't needed. Again. Mycroft had met The Doctor before, of course, not that the alien menace could be talked into remembering him or his purpose for being there in the first place.

The two had then proceeded to have a stare down of almost epic proportions there in the underground lobby.

At the time, The Doctor's little pets were confused as to who he was and just why he was barring them from something so potentially cataclysmic that the crux of the world might rest upon the seconds they took to bicker like school children. (The fiery red-headed woman in the impossible short cut skirt had mouthed off before her husband, shortly married a few weeks before, had pulled her back. At least he had had some sense in him, Mycroft thought, or at least he did until the man had started to agree with his obnoxious wife's ideals.) Of course they'd demanded to know who he was, what he thought he was doing, and just why he was so bent on letting Britain be destroyed by a potentially-deadly race, not that he'd give them the satisfaction of introducing himself. He'd already done that once with The Doctor, and if he couldn't remember who he bloody well was, he wasn't going to go on repeating himself like some dunce.

Mycroft Holmes, if possible, glared harder, so much so that the little frightened male Companion backed off even further, dragging along a one Amy Pond-Williams with him. If he had been so inclined to smile, that little telling trait would have been enough to work the rarely used expression onto his face. He had heard from Doctor Watson that even his brother had once referred to him as the most dangerous man that anyone would ever meet, and had stuck to the sentiment even after they'd met head on with a one James Moriarty. It both flattered and consoled him to know that even his hellion of a sibling knew that Mycroft wasn't a trifle force. Now if only he could get this dense group to wrap their minds about it, he'd be completely set, and a whole Hell of a lot better off. And wasn't that something to fantasize about?

"I think I know you, don't I?" The Doctor had stated somewhat suddenly, his creased brown and frown shifting slightly before redoubling in effort. "Where have I met you before?"

Mycroft only offered a raised eyebrow in response.

"Yes, yes, I do know you! Of course I know you!" The man in tweed responded while tugging at his burgundy bow-tie, spinning in place on his heel quickly before walking around Mycroft as if he were on display. "You're, uh... Yeah, you're him! The him! The one we've come to see!"

"It saddens me to think that the great Doctor cannot even be swayed enough to remember my name." It was a bate, of course it was a bate. Mycroft was chalked full of them. "But I'm sure you are here to see me. You arrived here without tripping perimeter alarms, so I can assume your TARDIS is waiting somewhere inside the facility."

"Straight to the crux of the matter, as always!" The Doctor smiled, but it was clear to Mycroft that he was still floundering for a name to go with the icy face he and his partners had come face to face with. "Lovely parlor trick, by the way. How do you know about the TARDIS?"

"We have met before. It is easy to assume that wherever you are, your ship would certainly be." Mycroft lapsed enough to allow a predatory grin to work its way across his face quickly. "That is, unless of course you allowed someone else to run off with it."

That stopped The Doctor dead in his tracks.

"I do know you." All traces of happiness of care-free attitude had suddenly been stilled in the wake of that bit of information. "You're lacking the scars on your face this time, but it is you. Last time I saw you, you were down with Jack, in the belly of The Valiant. Weren't you? The Master was torturing you."

Mycroft inclined his head.

The Companions gave twin cries of "What?" and "Who did what?" before The Doctor silence them.

He had seen the Doctor since then, of course, but secretly, and from afar. He couldn't allow such a dangerous force loose on Earth without some sort of supervision, and ever since that twit of a woman Yvonne Heartman had allowed for the destruction of Torchwood One's Canary Wharf Tower he'd been forced to do it manually and from a distance. Not that her idea of recon was anything but abysmal, but at least then he'd been able to patch into her systems. This had lead to a disadvantage when another Time Lord -calling himself The Master- had overtaken most of the British Government and eventually the vast majority of the Earth, enslaving it and ridding himself of all those who would oppose him. Mycroft had never given his support or sanction on the man, but whenever he went to make inquired, they were always denied, lost, or just plain refused. The mysterious Saxon had wormed his way into the minds of his superiors, and there was no wiggling room to be found in order to take him down without committing high treason.

The Doctor did not know it -any of it-, of course, but Mycroft and his younger brother Sherlock, as well as the good Doctor Watson, had given their full support and means to a one Martha Jones in an effort to correct the polluted time stream. He'd given her access to his vast network of military operants who were still loyal to him, and Sherlock had provided her with safe passage by means of other informants and medical supplies courtesy of the good Dr. Watson. He'd only ever met her in person once, when he helped to smuggle her out of Great Britain originally, and had wished her all of God's speed. Mycroft had then been captured some weeks later in an attempt to save his brother from harm and arrest, and in doing so had allowed the Toclafane to abduct him in his place. They hadn't been kind to him in any sense of the phrase...and Mycroft remembered it all, everything, right down to the last bit of advanced water boarding. The Master had tried to break him personally.

Thankfully, Sherlock and Doctor Watson, and indeed most of the rest of the world, did not remember anything. And those few who did: well, he was still keeping tabs on them, even years later. Martha had gotten married in the mean time, and had stopped talking to a majority of her family. They couldn't cope being one of the main reasons for the distance that had grown between them all, but Mycroft suspected there was something else underlying the entire event. Something that probably extended to all involved, including those of Torchwood Three and even people in his own employ, whether they remembered it fully or not.

"You do not have clearance to be here, I'm afraid." Mycroft said after a suitable amount of silence, none of the questions posed being even remotely considered. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. But you knew this, Doctor."

"Yeah, yeah... I sort of expected that." The Doctor paused in front of him again, dark eyes searching and infinitely deep with a universe's worth of untapped knowledge. "But I'm afraid we can't do that, see, because I got a distress signal and you're in my-"

The Doctor had barged in and come unglued at the sight of over forty some Daleks in various stages of destruction or study, chained down to the ground or casings torn open around the room. It was truly as magnificent as he'd been told it was, the mad man with a box truly and irrevocably infuriated by their all-to-human reactions. Not even the accounts had been as beautiful as watching the man in fluid movement had been, and even as he caused wave after wave of destruction, Mycroft was still envious. Holmes was a name uttered in fear in the underground or the shadows of the Government ladder, but The Doctor was a name fear throughout the known existence of space, and probably far beyond that. He was danger on such a grand scale that Mycroft's own actions paled in comparison.

Discoveries were made, accusations were hurled, and the day was saved.

The clean up was left to Mycroft.

And all Mycroft Holmes could think was:

_"At least he didn't discover the Cybermen."_


	4. Locks, Keys, Vaults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft surely knows of all the resources at the Governments' disposal...surely.

The week had been _weird_.  
  
No, no, wait!  Scratch that!  It had been more than just weird.  It’d been downright strange, curious, peculiar, funny, bizarre, uncanny, and extraordinarily perplexing that Jack Harkness wanted nothing more than to return to the Hub, crawl into his manhole beneath his office, and sleep for the next three days straight.  Even his tiny little camp bed was starting to sound ridiculously good, and it only ever did that when he was way beyond tired.  Strange, Jack thought, that he hadn’t noticed until he’d blow way past the point of being tired and straight into exhaustion.    
  
But instead, Jack had come back to the Hub to find Ianto talking to someone who shouldn’t have been there.  Someone very, very un-welcomed.    
  
Well, to be honest, neither of them should have been there.  He’d given the day off to the rest of his team after their latest encounter with some race of aliens that had been extinct for quite a long time, a singular pod ship having been caught in the Rift and then spat out here in Cardiff.  The aliens in question had then proceeded to do what they were supposed to, which was to capture, catalogue, and then collect unknown species.  Gwen had called their ship an Ark, and later upon seeing it for himself when the faulty cloaking device failed, he’d have to agree.  Noah’s Ark was an apt representation for what these tenacious little guys did.  When he’d figured out finally that they were Yagamir’r -which was the closest English representation of their names possible- he’d easily been able to solve their problem before the Rift had flared and swallowed the ship once more.  It have left his decidedly unease for the remainder of the evening.    
  
Now something else was doing a good job at filling their spot.    
  
And it was sitting in one of his office chairs.   
  
“Ah, Captain Harkness.”  Mycroft Holmes practically purred upon spotting him in the doorway, his eyes watching with a distinct edge as Ianto rose to presumably fetch more coffee.  “I hear you’ve been having some minor problems with a race of collectors, but that it had a satisfactory end.  Ianto has been telling me all about it.”    
  
“Minor problems doesn’t even begin to cover it.  That word is an abomination when applied to this job.”  Jack said with a sigh before sitting in his own desk chair, across the way from where Holmes had arranged himself to presumably wait and then chat with Ianto.  “But in the end everything resolved itself, so I suppose it is fair to say that it had a satisfactory end.”    
  
“Quite.” Holmes closed his eyes for a moment, a lull before the storm.  “But of course, that’s not why I’m here.  Your pursuit of fleeing refugees is hardly my concern.”   
  
“Oh?  Could have fooled me.”  Jack snarked back, temper flaring slightly where it normally wouldn’t, the round of known-twenty-questions only fueling the fires of his already shortened temper.  “And what do you want, exactly?”    
  
“Nothing from you.  I was merely dropping in on an old...friend.”  Friend was not the word that Mycroft wanted to use here, clearly, but maybe it was the closest he could come up with.  Jack hardly gave it a second thought.  “But now that that is taken care of, I can be on my way.  I’ll leave you to your hard-earned rest.”    
  
Jack didn’t care much what Mycroft was talking about until it clicked in his head just who this friend was.  And just why he’d probably dropped by when Jack wasn’t in.    
  
That sneaky bastard.    
  
“Goodnight, Captain Harkness.”  Holmes smirked at Ianto, who had once again come up behind both of them silently, a nod in his direction as he stood, the ever-present umbrella clutched tight like a child, his eyes sparkling with something devious.  “Do think about my offer, Mr. Jones.  I can be quite generous when the mood strikes me.  Your help wouldn’t be unrewarded.”    
  
Ianto inclined his head but remained silent, watching, doing what he did best.  
  
Holmes continued to meet his stare as Ianto showed him out.    
  
Jack just glared daggers at the man’s suited back.    
  
And later when Jack demanded answers from Ianto -perhaps during or after certain physical activities that could be taken as signs of dominance and or possessiveness- he would remain just as silent. Just as casually stoic as he always was when certain bits of himself were prodded or poked.     
  
Ianto’s secrets were his own, and though Jack wanted them, they weren’t his to take.  
  
But Jack had a feeling he knew what Holmes had wanted, and he wasn’t getting Ianto in any way, shape, form, or fashion in this or any future.  Ever.  Not over Jack’s dead body or the ruins of the entire Hub.  Never ever was that...man touching his precious Ianto!


End file.
